


'cause love's such an old-fashioned word

by lanterngoesswingingby



Series: take me back to yours, that will be fine [3]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Maylor if you squint, Roger is a mother hen, Sick Brian, Swearing, it's not a huge focus though, this is mostly just soft(tm), which john is most definitely doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 11:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18410060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanterngoesswingingby/pseuds/lanterngoesswingingby
Summary: 'John had let himself in the flat for the best part of thirty seconds when Freddie leapt upon him in the hall, shoved a hand over his mouth and pressed a pair of inexplicably fluffy socks into his grasp.'orthe flat is under enforced silence while rog sorts out his mother-hen instincts.





	'cause love's such an old-fashioned word

**Author's Note:**

> this idea wouldn't leave me alone this morning, so i gave in to it - this is a wee slice of life, if anything; there's not a great deal of plot to speak of, but it's pretty fluffy if that is your thing! also, fuzzy socks.

John had let himself in the flat for the best part of thirty seconds when Freddie leapt upon him in the hall, shoved a hand over his mouth and pressed a pair of inexplicably fluffy socks into his grasp. He then pulled him into the bathroom.

“Wha—”

“Shut up!” Freddie whispered, closing the bathroom door slowly. There was a ‘pop’ as the handle fell into place, and Freddie winced, holding his breath. John looked at him expectantly.

There was silence for a few seconds while Freddie held a finger to his lip. John folded his arms.

“You must promise from now to speak in a voice no louder than a whisper,” Freddie murmured, looking at the door as if he was scared it would bite him. “Do you promise, John?”

“I’m sorry, but what the actual fuck?” He did in fact keep his voice soft, instead raising his eyebrows. Freddie said nothing and stared at him expectantly until John nodded, slightly forced.

Fred breathed an unnecessary sigh of relief.

“Brian has a migraine and Rog is on a rampage,” he explained, eyes still darting towards the door.

Any other time, John would have been quick to accept the fact that Roger was in a mood, except the flat still remained entirely silent, lacking the usual signs of an angry drummer. 

His pointed look must have said as much, because Freddie let out a slightly traumatized chuckle. 

“Oh, John,” he shook his head. “Just put the socks on, okay?” 

He was, of course, referring to the garishly pink fluffy socks that had been forced on him upon entering the threshold. John held them up questioningly. 

“They soften your footsteps,” Freddie explained, wiggling his own feet. They were covered in a particularly fetching striped pattern. Resigned, John took off his boots and put on the socks. They were incredibly warm. 

“I want to apologise for… well, Roger on the whole, if I’m being honest darling. He gets a little… territorial.” Freddie made claw gestures with his hands as he spoke. John nodded shrewdly, still feeling a little caught on the wrong foot. 

“I can always come back another time?” he offered. Freddie’s eyes widened. He leaned closer, looking him directly in the eye.

“John, if you leave me here alone with him, I can’t promise when or if I will forgive you.” 

With that, he reached towards the door handle, pulling it open with the amount of care one would offer a new-born baby, or perhaps an unexploded bomb.

They padded out onto the landing, and John shot a concerned look at the bedroom door, which was closed. He could only assume Brian had locked himself away to sleep off the headache. Fred caught his eye and nodded, placing a finger on his lips for unnecessary emphasis. John rolled his eyes once he had turned his back. He led him into the living room, where the curtains were drawn shut and the only light was coming from the lamp in the corner. Laying on the carpet was Roger, flicking through a book with one hand and stroking behind Dylan’s ear with the other. The cat in question seemed particularly pleased with the attention. Roger glanced up at their entrance, offering John a tight smile before, like Freddie, putting a finger on his lips. Dylan stirred at the lack of stroking and leapt up. On spotting John, she twisted herself around his legs, mewing contentedly (and unfortunately noisily). Roger’s previously pleasant expression was gone instantly, replaced with a firm glare. 

“Dylan, you traitorous little _cow_ ,” John seethed in a whisper. He gave her a light kick with his foot to get her to stop. The cat fixed him with a look rivalling Roger's before skulking to sit beside her previous companion. From the floor, Roger fumbled behind him and, producing a small notebook and pen, began to scribble. He handed the paper to John.  
John unfolded it.

_‘Bri has migraine. Be really fucking quiet’._

Ah. He kept his sense of injustice at the situation firmly to himself, and nodded, taking a seat on the sofa.

It creaked loudly as he did so, because of course it did. This time, Roger didn’t even look at him but took a deep breath, closing his eyes in apparent ire. Freddie took advantage of Roger’s diverted attention and mouthed ‘sorry’, as Roger opened them once more and fixed John with a scowl. 

“Can you—” Roger searched for the words, looking more frustrated than John had seen him in a while. “I don’t know, _try_? To not make such a racket?”

John wanted to laugh, but as he considered himself a relatively sensible man with a partiality towards remaining alive, he did not.

“Sorry,” he managed. When he risked half a glance at Freddie, the man looked relieved at his efforts.

“Thanks,” Roger replied, fiddling with his fingernails. Freddie cleared his throat gently.

“How is he doing?”

Roger shrugged. His posture was tight and drawn, and he did not keep eye contact for any length of time. If John didn't think it a bit much, he would say that Roger looked worried.

“He’s sleeping it off. I’ve left some paracetamol and water for when he gets up, but I know it takes him forever to get to sleep so…” at that, he gestured around the room, towards (John guessed) all the (very invisible) silence. It was fair enough reasoning, he supposed, if a little extreme. He had never seen Roger handle a situation so fretfully before – though, this was the man who made sure Dylan had all four of their mobile numbers imprinted on her tag in case she wandered off, and who had started a fight in a pub with a man who had spoken to Freddie the wrong way. His mind wandered to the extremely comprehensive email he had sent John himself upon joining the band, detailing anything he could possibly need to know on his fellow bandmates after John had mentioned in passing that he tended to feel overwhelmed around new people.

When he put these together, the protective behaviour felt quite fitting for Roger. John made a conscious effort to soften a little and offered him a smile. It was returned, if a little strained. 

Until Freddie’s phone started ringing, disrupting the peace with a piercing marimba rendition of _Take A Chance on Me_. 

“Fuck- _fuck_!” Freddie fumbled in his pockets for the device as Roger turned to him, ready to kill.

“Freddie I swear to god—” he threatened, as Freddie started to take off his jacket, desperate to locate the phone. The onslaught of sudden noise felt comparatively deafening, and Dylan mewed at her disturbed peace. This was apparently the final straw for Roger who leapt upon Freddie himself, all but jumping on the man’s back in a flurry of blonde rage. There was a brief scuffle between them, Freddie half in, half out of his jacket and Roger reaching over to grab a phone that wasn’t there.

The ringing stopped.

The three men plus Dylan sat in stunned silence. Then the door opened, and John startled so much that he wasn’t entirely sure his heart hadn’t taken a brief pause. The other two were clearly equally as started, with Roger falling from Freddie’s back with a thud, and Freddie himself letting out a tiny yelp.

Standing in the doorway was Brian, looking drawn and paler than usual, but otherwise healthy. His hair had flattened a little on one side, making the curls on the other appear even more bouncy. 

“Oh darling, did we wake you?” Freddie worried, still whispering. From the floor, Roger gaped.

“No, I slept enough, I think – is it worth me asking what’s going on?” Brian rubbed the back of his head, directing his question primarily at John who simply shrugged and looked at Roger. 

“We – _I_ – was just trying to be quiet. How’re you feeling?” Roger fretted, pulling himself up from the floor to rest on the arm of the sofa. His face had softened considerably since Brian’s entrance, but his eyebrows remained furrowed.

“Yeah, pretty fantastic, considering.” Brian moved to sit down next to John, still giving them all a wary eye. Roger remained in his position, not moving even as Brian squeezed himself into the space below him. As if on instinct Roger’s hand flew to Brian’s hair and started to rub his scalp soothingly. Brian leaned back into his touch, closing his eyes in contentment. 

“Did you manage to drink anything?” Roger asked softly, still playing with his hair with the experienced hand of someone who had dealt with a similar situation before. Brian nodded, apparently soothed by the repetitive movements. There was a faint smile playing on his face.

John watched this picture unfold in front of him, attempting to catch Freddie’s eye as he did so. It seemed, however, that Freddie only had eyes for Dylan, who purred happily as Freddie cooed at her, no longer in terrified silence. It certainly wasn’t weird for Roger to be physically affectionate – he could always be relied on for a cuddle after a trying lecture – in fact, all four of them were on the tactile side, even John. Still, there was something else in his gaze. Something less fraternal. Less platonic.

Perhaps John had been watching one too many Richard Curtis films. 

He shook the idea temporarily, happy to sit lazily and listen to the mindless chatter filling the room, occasionally interjecting with whatever came to mind. However, when Brian and Freddie left the room to make tea, he could have sworn he saw the same dopey smile cross Roger’s face as he had seen grace Hugh Grant’s many times before.

**Author's Note:**

> aw, sweet. also, meet dylan! she's a good cat, i promise. no but seriously, thank you for reading this entirely un-edited... thing. there's literally no unfolding plot to speak of, but the true plot is the fun we had along the way, right? (i'm sorry)  
> come say hi on my [tumblr](https://lanterngoesswingingby.tumblr.com/), i promise to write something slightly more substantial at some point?? maybe?? but feel free to send me prompts! x thank you for reading bbs!


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